Plight and Prophecy
by Idris388
Summary: Glorfindel muses on prophecies, outcomes, and whether there are courses in history of his own making. Second place in August/September 2018 Teitho.


_A/N: Written for the "Consequences" Teitho Challenge_

 _Disclaimer: Tolkien's canon, characters and wondrous universe._

 _Summary: Glorfindel muses on prophecies, outcomes, and whether there are courses in history of his own making._

* * *

 **Plight and Prophecy**

 _Minas Tirith, Year 3019 of the Third Age_

"Do you ever think about prophecy?"

It was night and the White City glowed like a pearl in the moonlight. Aragorn had given the party of elves rooms in the highest part of the palace, where the gardens were still lush and green, and the flowers bloomed anew. Erestor held his wine glass delicately and looked sideways at his friend. "Not I," he said. "But I am a simple counsellor. I would not presume to know of prophecy in the same manner as one who has Vanyarian blood such as you."

Glofindel glared at him but only shook his head as Erestor's lips quirked. There was much caused for laughter in the city this night. "Ridiculous Noldo," he said firmly, and then Erestor did laugh.

"What of prophecies?" he asked. "Were there prophecies of this? I suppose the _elvellon_ Baggins – but that was only verse."

"Oh, prophecies may be found everywhere," Glorfindel laughed. "And he was right about Estel, was he not?"

 _The crownless again shall be king_. Erestor sipped at his wine. "How right indeed."

They were silent for a moment. "Would it surprise you," Glorfindel asked, "to know that I have made some prophecies of my own?"

"Indeed not," Erestor replied. "I do not think the tales of your great deeds will ever be finished in the telling, but they no longer surprise me." Glorfindel smiled at his friend's praise. "And what were these prophecies?" The golden-haired elf stood straight-backed and solemn, looking out over the city. When it became clear he was not going to answer, Erestor continued – "Did _you_ predict this? Our victory? Estel's coronation? The return of the king to the White City?"

"Indeed not," Glorfindel parroted. "The very opposite, in fact. Although I am pleased to be wrong."

"So do you, then?" Erestor asked. When Glorfindel lifted an eyebrow quizzically, he continued. "Do you think about prophecy?"

Glorfindel sighed. "Not until recently." Erestor had been Elrond's chief councillor a long time and was possessed of remarkable perception. But the magic of the Valar was not a topic that he knew well, so Glorfindel found himself at a loss to explain.

"And what is troubling you about prophecies?" the dark-haired elf asked.

"'Tis not the prophecy itself that concerns me, but what follows that interests me." He tapped long fingers on the stone balcony thoughtfully. "Are a prophecy and its subject two separate things?" _Are they separate,_ he thought, _from the one who makes the prophecy itself?_

"Well," Erestor said. "Until the prophecy comes true – then are they not one and the same?"

"A painful colliding of two worlds," Glorfindel agreed.

Erestor leaned forward suddenly and Glorfindel followed his gaze to two figures in the garden. Aragorn's hand was entwined with Arwen's, and the Evenstar hung close in the hollow of his throat. The reluctant king wore his new crown; they walked together under the moon, oblivious to any observers. "He will make a good ruler," Erestor said, like a prophecy of his own.

Glorfindel heard the pride, and the sadness in those words. "Much of which he owes to you, _mellon nin_ ," he replied. "For you taught him to read his first words, his first maps, his first faces."

"And you," Erestor returned, "taught him to fight his first battle, and all the ones thereafter. And to spare his first life." He turned to Glorfindel; his dark eyes were curious and amazed. "Was it a prophecy?" he wondered. "All those times we told Estel he was destined to be a great in this world. Was it a foretelling?"

"No," Glorfindel said. He remembered how prophecies felt. "No, _mellon nin_. That was not fate, but faith."

"I supposed you would know," Erestor said, and Glorfindel heard the curiosity that made his friend such a scholar burning in the question. But although he himself had raised the topic, he did not say anything further, and Erestor had known known him long and well enough not to ask.

* * *

 _Near Fornost, around the Year 1975 of the Third Age_

The mist crept into his ears and eyes, and laid upon his skin like a cold cloak. Shapes there were around him, and he could not tell if friend or foe. The plains below his feet were wet, the sounds of battle muffled. Glorfindel leant down and placed a hand on his horse, who trembled with tension. " _Sidh_ ," he murmured, although his own hand clutched his sword with vigour.

They had arrived in time to block the cursed wraith's fracturing army, and all had been clear as they fought through the remainder of the enemy. Glorfindel's blood sung in his veins to fight again. The arrows had flown thick and fast but the sword of Gondolin and Imladris had come against. Soon, they were left with little opposition and looks of wonder and worship in the eyes of the men.

Eärnur had been fighting near him when the mists had come, rolling around them like pale towers. Glorfindel held still and silent although he longed to shake free, for he knew the necromancer's magic when he felt it.

A puff and a growl to his left. The clip of a heavy horse's hoof. He narrowed his eyes and saw the shape of a large rider, and followed in their direction. " _Sidh_ ," he repeated to his straining horse. But a cry from ahead sent him into a canter, abandoning all stealth – the horse went gladly under him, muscles coiling as they raced, almost blind, through the clouds.

They burst through a wall of mist. At once, all was clear and Glorfindel saw him, the Witch-King of Angmar, dark and terrible in his wrath. There was Eärnur, his blade stained red with fear, defiance in his eyes and a cry in his throat. The dark rider set his horse forward and Eärnur rose up in his saddle to receive his challenge. Neither had noticed the elf's arrival, but Glorfindel came to a halt and watched closely as Eärnur's dark chestnut steed tensed, then bolted off in the opposite direction.

The ring-wraith laughed as Earnur's horse fled, taking the prince with him. It was a terrible sound of demonic power and Glorfindel gritted his teeth and rode forward deliberately. There was an odd feeling, cool and heavy, settling in his limbs. The white of his horse's mane sparked in the weak sunlight and the wraith turned his head, the laughter dying abruptly. Glorfindel sat in silence and looked straight into the dark rider's hood, and gripped his sword. There was but a split second, then the wraith seemed to recognise some power in the elf, for he turned his horse all at once and vanished, and Glorfindel had no desire to chase him.

There was galloping behind him as the prince of men returned furiously to find his enemy gone. "Did you fight him?" Eärnur demanded loudly, wheeling his frantic horse about.

"He fled," Glorfindel said, his lips numb.

"My lord, he fears you," Eärnur said with wild triumph in his voice. "We shall be after him!"

"No," Glorfindel cried suddenly. The coolness had spread to his eyes now, and his fingertips and his voice which had commanded armies of old. Eärnur stared at him in shock. " _Do not pursue him! He will not return to these lands_." A certainty weighed down his words; he was once again filled with the strength and light of the Valar. " _Far off yet is his doom, and not by the hand of a man shall he fall_."

The mists had gone with Angmar. The plains were empty but for their allies. Eärnur was still staring. The grip of prophecy left Glorfindel much more quickly than it had come, and he fell forward a little, gasping. "My lord!" Eärnur exclaimed, cantering forward to take his arm. "My lord Glorfindel-"

"I am well," he said, waving Eärnur aside. "Quite well."

 _Far off yet is his doom_. "Whence that doom will come," he murmured. Although soldiers rode about the field around them, only Eärnur was close enough to hear. Glorfindel gave him a small smile, for they stood on a field of victory, but the power of his words bore down upon him as he straightened up. "But it will not be the courage of any man that will fell the Witch-King of Angmar."

* * *

 _Minas Tirith, Year 3019 of the Third Age_

She had not enough boldness to approach or speak much to any of them, but Eowyn was still sad to see the elves go. In the time that the elven party had dwelt in Minas Tirith, Aragorn had been only too happy to acquaint his new Steward with some of them. Faramir was fascinated by the elves, and he told her stories every evening of their deeds and glories. Eowyn listened and marvelled but she did not seek them out.

Now, they were preparing to leave; to return to Lorien and Imladris and beyond. Eowyn felt that the city would be emptier without them. She caught sight of Legolas on her way to the stables. He raised a hand merrily to her. Some of his friends had come to the city with the elves – she had seen him often with the Queen's brothers. It was strange and wonderful to see him clad in silver and green like an Elven Lord, rather than a warrior's garb. He greeted her cheerfully and bade her a good morning. "Where are you going this fine day, Lady Eowyn?"

"To the stables," she responded. He smiled at her and his blue eyes twinkled.

"It is good," he said, "to be reminded of home."

Eowyn entered the stable quietly and smiled at once. "Hello," she murmured, going down the row. The stable hands, well-accustomed to her presence, only bowed to her and went on with their work. She made her way past the Rohirrim steeds, smiling and greeting them, sharing apples with her favourite few. Down the very end of the stables, where there was the most light, were the elven steeds, to whom she had never spoken. Eowyn knew the elves spoke Sindarin to their horses, but in lieu of knowing any, she held out a hand to the closest horse, a large white steed. "Hello, sir," she said. The horse tossed his mane and she had enough experience to know that she was welcome. "Are you well this fine day?" He pushed his nose into her hand. His hair was velvety soft and she smiled in delight as he turned wise eyes on her. "Well, you are beautiful, aren't you?" she said under her breath. "How my brother would love you."

"Alas," a smooth voice said from behind her and she turned. "He does not take kindly to strangers. Although he seems to have taken well enough to you." He was an elf, Eowyn saw, tall and broad and golden with eyes of blue, old as the Sea. He bowed to her.

Belatedly, she realised that she was probably speaking to his horse, and she removed her hands from its mane and turned to curtsy clumsily. "My lord! I did not mean to disturb your horse, I-"

He looked amused and lifted his hands. "It is no intrusion. Asfaloth judges for himself when he would like company. He would very much resent if I tried to stop you on his behalf." He reached out his own hand. The horse whinnied instantly and nuzzled at it.

"You have a beautiful horse," she said to him. "What does his name mean?"

The elf leant his head closer to the horse's nose. Eowyn could see immediately that this was the best of relationships between horse and rider. "In Sindarin, his name means sun-foam," he said quietly. "And he is one of my dearest friends."

"Just how it should be," she said in reply.

He turned towards her and Eowyn saw that he was smiling, with something profound in his eyes. "Am I correct in thinking that you are the Lady of Rohan?"

It disarmed her so utterly that he knew who she was, she was struck silent. Then – "I am." She shifted awkwardly. "Please forgive me, sir, but what is your name?"

His smile did not waver but grew warmer. "I am Glorfindel of Imladris."

Eowyn's eyes widened. She knew the name, and the greatest of his deeds, for he, like Gandalf, had slain a demon of Morgoth. She fingered her plain gown self-consciously and bowed her head before the mighty elf, but he only laughed kindly. The sound was like a spring river in wild woods and Eowyn longed to hear it again even as it was over. "Please," he said. "We have no need to stand on ceremony here. And," he added, "I hear that you are to become a Princess soon enough."

She flushed. "The title is bestowed upon my husband, Lord Glorfindel," she said, eyes still lowered. "I have done nothing to earn it but plight my troth to him."

"That is most untrue," Glorfindel said solemnly and Eowyn looked up. His blue eyes were hazy with memory. "I have known princesses. You will long be counted among the greatest of them."

Her cheeks reddened further at the praise. Here was one of the greatest Elven Lords to have ever walked Middle-Earth. "My lord, I-"

"Glorfindel," a call arose from outside, and there came Aragorn's head around the stable door. Eowyn dropped into a curtsey at once before the new king, who looked surprised to see her there.

"Estel," Glorfindel greeted, then bowed formally with a teasing smile. "Your Majesty."

"My lord," Aragorn returned. "Lady Eowyn."

Glorfindel returned his attention to Asfaloth. "What is it, Estel?"

Asfaloth gave a whicker of greeting to Aragorn, who patted him on the nose as he passed. "Erestor would like to discuss the loading of the carts with you."

Glorfindel showed no intent to go. "Of course he would."

"He is concerned about the proceedings-"

"Erestor is always concerned," Glorfindel said. "And it is best to simply stay out of his way and let him be concerned. This you know, Estel. Think of when you would fall behind on your studies."

Aragorn laughed at that, and seeing Eowyn's confusion, explained, "Erestor and Glorfindel were my teachers while I was growing up in Rivendell. I had sword training with Glorfindel every day, and archery. Erestor would give me lessons in history and diplomacy." What a childhood he must have had, Eowyn thought. And how envious Faramir would be when he heard of Aragorn's impressive tutors. "I was very lucky," Aragorn said, evidently guessing Eowyn's line of thought. "For they were the very best of instructors, and they made me who I am today."

"Nay," Glorfindel said. "It is we who were fortunate to have had such a pupil as you. And we are glad beyond words to see you as a man today, but we cannot take credit for what was always in your heart."

Aragorn looked rather touched by these words, and replied, "Only for showing me how to be a warrior, and a healer, and a king."

Glorfindel ran a graceful hand down Asfaloth's neck. "We did not know we were making a king or a healer," he said brightly to them both. "But of course we are glad it followed as such."

"We are all glad of it," Eowyn said quietly, and felt a phantom pain in her arm as she did.

Aragorn leaned back against the wooden frame of Asfaloth's stable. "And I am not the only warrior here," he pointed out. "Glorfindel, you stand in the presence of Eowyn, Shieldmaiden of Rohan and slayer of the Witch-King of Angmar."

Glorfindel's hands stilled where they lay on Asfaloth's flank. There was an odd note in his voice when he said, "I have heard of Lady Eowyn's great deeds in battle. And I must confess, I have waited a long measure of time to meet her."

Aragorn smiled at Eowyn's flustered expression. "It seems tales of your courage have spread far already, my lady. For was it not prophesised that the leader of the _Nazgul_ could not be killed by a man?"

Those had been the words that Angmar had spoken to her, and it still sent a chill down Eowyn's spine to think of them now. Glorfindel half-turned, his blue eyes still in shadow and his golden hair gleaming. "And do you know," he asked, "who is was that made that prophecy?"

Aragorn grinned, and looked in that moment utterly like a student who was about to receive a rap over the knuckles from their schoolmaster. "No doubt some ancient Elf from the First Age, of dusty Noldor descent whose name is lengthier than the Anduin, and whose deeds may be chronicled in songs longer than the span of night?"

But Glorfindel did not laugh, nor scold his former pupil. Instead, he said, "You are quite correct, Estel, except in that I carry some blood in me that is not Noldorin. Although I lay claim to some Noldorin descent, it is not all I have – and you are correct; those of that line alone are dusty indeed." Glorfindel did smile now, and teasingly. "That very much remains Elrond's territory, and Erestor's."

His levity did nothing to lessen the impact of his words. There was stunned silence in the stable; even Asfaloth was still. Then Aragorn said, "You mean-"

"Yes," the elf said with a wry smile. "It was I who made that prophecy, long ago."

" _You_?" Aragorn said in disbelief. "Glorfindel, you never told me that."

Glorfindel laughed again; it filled Eowyn with warmth. "What I have not yet told you about my life, Estel, would fill several very large books that I am confident you would never read."

Eowyn felt that she should say something, but as she opened her mouth, no words came out. It was too ridiculous a thing to contemplate, that this elf standing before her, who looked no older than her brother, had foretold of her coming entire Ages before her birth. It was a working of the universe that was too complex and absurd for her to comprehend. Glorfindel seemed to understand her feeling. "It was a dark day," he told her. "Although we had victory on the field of battle. You ought not think of it. Only know that many have waited for the day that one would step forward with the strength and will to rid us of Sauron's greatest servant." Asfaloth whinnied as if in agreement and Glorfindel brushed a hand across Aragorn's shoulder. "You are both heroes here."

Aragorn, probably well-accustomed to discovering that legendary tales were in fact embodied by his childhood friends, now smiled at Eowyn. "And that is no small praise from a Lord of Gondolin."

* * *

Eowyn was quiet as they exited the stables and made their way back to the palace. Faramir's fascination with the elves was starting to make sense to her, and yet she felt distinctly uncomfortable in her familiarity with one as well. To live forever must have been a gift and a curse all at once. She had summoned great courage to defy the Witch-King, and yet it had been determined that she would, had it not? It set a prickling in her skin to wonder about.

"I have disturbed you," Glorfindel said as they reached the steps of the hall. Aragorn had pulled ahead.

"No, my lord," Eowyn said quickly.

"It is no shame to be troubled by prophecy," the elf said. "I myself struggle with the concept. After all, it is not for us to understand ourselves, but for the Gods to gift when they see fit."

"Did you ever think we would meet?" Eowyn asked curiously.

Glorfindel was silent for a moment. Then – "None know how what they do will change the future."

It was not an answer to her question, yet it comforted Eowyn somewhat, for it gave her the impression that the ancient elf was as puzzled by their predicament as she was. "I always wanted to be a warrior," she admitted. "A hero. Like my brother and my father and like all the old stories." _Like you_ , she did not say. "And now I wonder if perhaps my actions were not even my own."

He nodded. Aragorn had vanished from sight and they were alone as they went through the halls. "I think that is a normal thing to wonder." He had such wise eyes, and mirthful and bright and sorrowful too, and Eowyn wondered what he had seen or done that made them so. "But one should celebrate the results rather than dwell on what came before."

"Mortal deeds are done by mortal men," Eowyn said quietly. "With mortal courage. I never thought the Gods had a part in it."

"But you," Glorfindel said with a smile in his voice, "are not a mortal man." She laughed at that and he continued. "As I say, none know how what they do will change the future. I was not to know that my words would herald the coming of the Shieldmaiden of Rohan. And yet, here you stand." He glanced at her, those unfathomable blue eyes soft. "And I will say for my part, if indeed I had a part in it, that I am delighted of the consequence. It gives me great joy now to meet you, and I could not have imagined a finer end to this tale. So I say – well met, my lady, and thank you."

Tears came to Eowyn's eyes at his words and she did not move to wipe them away. "It was an honour to be of service."

He smiled at her. "And although you do not know what may follow from your own actions, you may be certain of one thing. That wherever we dwell, be it Middle-Earth or Valinor, songs of your courage shall be sung to the stars, as long as the Eldar live."

* * *

 **The End**

* * *

 _Lines from Glorfindel's prophecy quoted from The Return of the King: Appendix A_


End file.
